Taking Charge
by dancingloki
Summary: Bucky's waited long enough for Steve to make a move. It's time for him to take the initiative.
1. Chapter 1

It would be really fucking great, Bucky thought, if Steve would stop treating him like he was made of glass.

Like, yeah, he'd seen some shit and he'd been through some shit, and yeah, it had taken him a while to get himself patched back together, but _seriously_. He'd known Steve and Steve's new best friend were looking for him all along, naturally, but had carefully kept out of their way. He had some things to work through on his own first. The look on Steve's face when Bucky'd shown up on his doorstep unannounced was almost _comical_.

(He'd hated himself for the twinge of jealousy he'd felt at seeing Steve so close with someone else. Of course he wanted Steve to have friends, to be happy, of course he didn't _really_ want Steve to be alone, _everyone_ should know what he'd always known—how great and glorious and _wonderful_ Steve Rogers was. But he'd had Steve all to himself for so long, it was hard to see him smiling that way at anyone else. Even after he became Captain America and was everyone's golden boy, even with the Commandos, nobody'd been really _close_ to Steve but him.)

And yes it was nice to have an actual bed to sleep on. And yes it was great to have actual meals instead of whatever he could scrounge from the dumpsters that probably wouldn't give him food poisoning. (He _could_ have stolen something to eat, or money to buy something, but he'd given up criminal activity for Lent.)

But Steve wouldn't stop _hovering_. It was like he thought if Bucky left his side for an instant he'd forget who he was again. And he kept using that _tone_, that soft gentle "soothing" voice that set Bucky's _teeth_ on edge.

He wasn't broken. He wasn't _breakable_. For the first god damned time in their _lives_, he and Steve were actually on _even footing_, and Steve went around treating him like a fucking _cancer patient_. It was infuriating.

Made all the more so by the realization, during his little sabbatical, that things were…accessible…now that hadn't been before. He'd been watching the news, had spent some time on the internet in the public library, he'd learned a few things, and one of the things he learned was that walking out with another man didn't get you put in mental asylums anymore.

God, he'd always _known_. The way Steve looked at him, ever since they were kids, he knew what that meant. And he knew what it meant, back before the war, when he woke up gasping and covered in sweat and rock-hard with the sound of Steve's voice in his ears.

And he might have been willing to risk it, risk getting committed or beaten to death in the streets for a taste of happiness and that sweet gentle mouth, but…it just never seemed right, y'know?

It wasn't like Steve depended on him, or anything. The kid had always been fiercely independent, and strong, _so_ strong. More than whatever scrappiness kept him upright in a fistfight, Steve had something else, something indomitable. He'd been Captain America long before Erskine made his body match, and Bucky had hated himself for loving being the only one who could see it.

But still. Bucky'd always been Steve's golden boy, he knew Steve looked up to him, _idolized_ him even, he was everything Steve wished he'd been born with; charm, looks, arms thicker than a dry oak twig. He wasn't Steve's keeper, but he'd sure as shit been looking out for him his whole life. Trying anything…it just felt like taking advantage. He'd never be sure if Steve was even _able_ to say no, if Bucky'd read him wrong, if he didn't really want it.

Then came the war, and the supersoldier serum, and the next time he'd seen Steve he'd been a foot taller than he remembered, with _muscles_—attractive muscles, Bucky'd always loved Steve's skinny frame but he had to admit the buff thing was doin' it for him—and all these plans, and this brand-new light shining in his eyes, and all around them soldiers were falling over each other to follow Captain America into battle.

And it hurt. It felt like Steve had been ripped away from him. He was so much _taller_ than Bucky now, not just in flesh but in spirit, he'd been turned into this gigantic towering _symbol_. He was miles ahead, untouchable and out of reach. Bucky hated himself for resenting it, for resenting Steve for going where he couldn't get to him anymore. He couldn't monopolize Steve anymore, couldn't selfishly keep that light hidden all to himself now that his body matched his soul.

Well, even if Steve hadn't leapt out of his league without looking back, the war was still there to occupy them, and they were _never_ alone, and Steve had found someone new to look at that way, so it didn't really matter.

But now they were here, where, hell, they could even get _married_ in some places, and Steve's girl was old and senile and all Bucky's old girlfriends were probably dead. And he could reach Steve now, he'd gotten strong enough to keep up with him, strong enough that they were truly equals for the first time and he was working on making amends and a fresh start so _why_, in the name of god almighty, would Steve not stop _hovering?_

He was _fine_. He had the nightmares under wraps, he'd gotten most of his memories back—enough to bluff through the gaps, at least—and he'd gotten rid of enough of Hydra's brainwashing to be his own man. He was _fine_.

But Steve kept treating him like he was going to shatter at the slightest touch. Like he needed to be babied and protected and _pitied_. God, seeing _pity_ on Steve's face. It felt like being punched in the gut. Was this what it had been like, for Steve, all those years? Growing up one wrong step from being an invalid? Was that the look Steve had seen on all those doctors' faces, who rejected him from enlisting, that godawful _pity?_ No wonder he'd picked so many fights.

He knew Steve still wanted him. Bucky had caught him looking, that first day. He'd used Steve's shower to wash off the grime of the streets and emerged from the bathroom, still glistening wet, towel hanging shamelessly low around his hips. He'd caught the way Steve's eyes grazed over his chest and abs, then the guilty flush on his cheeks and ears as he hurriedly looked away.

Steve must know what kind of world they were living in now. If he wanted Bucky, he could have him, but he didn't make a move. They were on equal footing now, if there was ever a time that was right for them, this was it. When Steve had lead Bucky into his bedroom, he'd thought this was their moment, it was finally happening for them. But Steve had slept on the couch that night. And the next. And every night for the weeks that followed.

He came to the conclusion that Steve must have decided, as he had long ago, that it would be taking advantage to try anything.

Which was bullshit. Bucky was himself, he was the boss of his own brain, and it was about damn time Steve "That Fucking Idiot" Rogers started _respecting_ him again.

He'd have to take the initiative, that was the only answer. He'd have to take matters into his own hands.

Making the decision felt good. He barely felt a glimmer of doubt, barely a twinge of nervousness, as he rolled out of bed, spared a second to tie his long hair back—he'd kept it long, he didn't know why, but he liked it—and shrug into his jeans, then padded noiselessly, barefoot, over to the bedroom door.

Steve had his eyes closed, stretched out on the couch, but Bucky could tell from his breathing he wasn't really asleep. He crept over as quietly as he could, standing silently looking down at Steve's face.

He looked so gentle like this. The most like Bucky remembered him, honestly. That sweet, honest goodness was still there in his face, post-transformation, but he'd lost a lot of the gentle tenderness he'd had when he was small and delicate. Bucky could still see it, though, when he was sleeping—or pretending to be, anyway.

Steve sighed gently. "What's up, Buck?" he asked, opening his eyes and blinking tiredly. "You need something?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Bucky moved quickly, and in a split second, he had Steve pinned to the couch, both arms trapped between Bucky's thighs as he straddled Steve's torso.

Steve was awake in an instant and struggled, briefly, but Bucky had the upper hand and the element of surprise, and Steve couldn't shake him without breaking the furniture, so after a moment he just went limp. He glared up at Bucky, annoyance without a hint of fear written all over his face.

"What the hell are you doing, jerk?" he huffed. Bucky grinned.

"What you should have done three god damn weeks ago, when I first showed up here," Bucky murmured, spreading the palm of his metal hand flat over Steve's chest. Steve slept in a t-shirt and sweatpants without even a blanket on; Bucky itched to strip that shirt off him, find out what bare skin felt like under the neural interface sensors of his arm, but there would be plenty of time for that.

His right hand traced a gentle line up Steve's neck, caressed his cheek softly, then took his chin in a firm but gentle grip. Steve's eyes were wide, but he didn't look scared. Bucky searched his face for a long moment, noting the tremble in his lip, the hitch in his breath, memorizing his expression. He wanted to _remember_ this moment, this all-important beginning. He couldn't afford to lose a single second of this.

He felt Steve's arms and shoulders tense up as he leaned down slowly, closing his eyes, a few stray locks of hair escaping the tie and falling loose on Steve's forehead.

When their lips met, he felt Steve's whole body sigh in relief, and it was all worth it. Everything he'd done, every life he'd taken, everything Hydra had put him through, he'd live through it all a hundred times over again for the taste of Steve's sweet, gentle mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

A kiss could only last a moment, though. He pulled back from Steve's lips with a sigh, keeping his eyes closed tight. Now that that barrier was broken, the tension and adrenaline of that _first_ ebbed away, leaving him feeling hollow and afraid in a way he was all too familiar with. He'd only steeled his resolve for that far, he hadn't really thought about what came next. If there was a next.

Broad shoulders shifting position under him drew his attention, and he cracked one eyelid to peek down, afraid of what he'd see.

Steve was smiling softly. Bucky let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"You know," Steve murmured gently, "this might be a little better suited for the bedroom."

Bucky huffed a gentle laugh at that, and slid carefully off Steve's chest. Steve grabbed his right hand as he went, lacing their fingers together and giving Bucky's palm a reassuring squeeze. Bucky grinned shyly, ducking his head and avoiding looking back as he lead Steve over to the bedroom door.

When they got to the bed, Steve turned smoothly and automatically, lying down on his back and pulling Bucky after him. Bucky stretched out above him, bracing himself on his elbows and knees, not letting any of his weight fall onto Steve's body.

Steve smiled knowingly and ran his hands over Bucky's hips and sides, stroking his bare skin. He leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss into the corner of Bucky's mouth. Bucky turned into the kiss immediately, pushing Steve down into his pillow.

Things got heated quickly. The thrill of finally fulfilling years of wishing pushed Bucky's fears aside, and he started to give into his baser instincts. The cold, utilitarian precision Hydra had programmed him with was a thing of the past. He rutted down against Steve, grinding on him in clumsy circles, thrusting his tongue carelessly into Steve's mouth.

It was Steve's sharp intake of breath that brought Bucky back to earth. His hips stilled, he pushed himself up on his hands to look, and his heart stopped.

There was red, bright red, on Steve's mouth. Bucky'd bitten his lip.

Bucky threw himself sideways, getting himself as far away from Steve as he could in one motion. He landed roughly on the hardwood floor, not even bothering to catch himself.

Steve sat up, bewildered. "Bucky, what?" He touched his lip gently, confusion clearing from his face to be replaced by concern when he saw the blood come away on his fingers. "Shit, I didn't even feel—Bucky, it's okay, it's fine, all right? I'm fine, just—come here, okay?"

Bucky shook his head frantically, scrambling backwards on his ass until his back hit the wall. Fuck. _Fuck_. And he'd wanted Steve to _respect_ him? How could he have thought they were equals now, equal footing, after the things he had _done?_ How could he _ever_ believe he could _ever_ be Steve's equal? He could lift just as much dead weight, punch just as hard, but that didn't make them the same. They'd made Steve a hero. They'd made Bucky a monster.

He buried his face in his knees, trembling. Fuck, _fuck_, all he could do is destroy. He loved Steve, he _loved_ Steve, and all he could do was hurt him.

Gentle hands covered his. Bucky cringed away, trying to draw even further into himself, but a soft voice coaxed him back out.

Steve tugged persistently at Bucky's arms, peeling them away, then slipped a strong hand under Bucky's chin, tipping it up until he could see Bucky's face.

"I'm okay, Buck. Look, look at me. You didn't hurt me. Look."

Bucky's eyes flicked up and then down again, too fast to see anything, too afraid to look. He steeled himself and looked up again.

Steve was smiling. His face was clean of blood, only a trace of red smeared on the right shoulder of his t-shirt remaining. The mark on his lip was already gone. Bucky reached out with a trembling hand, but stopped before he touched Steve's face; Steve took Bucky's hand in his own and pressed it gently to his lips.

"Come on, come back to the bed, okay? The floor's not super comfortable." Bucky nodded, let Steve haul him to his feet.

They settled onto the bed, sitting side by side. Steve's hand moved in gentle circles on Bucky's lower back as he tried to slow his breathing, to calm his heart.

"Sorry for freaking out," he said hoarsely after a moment. Steve chuckled.

" 'Freaking out'? Really? What, are you a teenager now?"

Bucky scowled. "Oh, shut up. Natasha's been catching me up on slang."

"She's good at that." Bucky didn't look, but he could tell Steve was grinning. "Take whatever she tells you with a grain of salt, though, she's got a sick sense of humor. She had me convinced 'twerking' meant taking a picture of yourself with your phone for at least two weeks, I scandalized a couple of tourists."

"What does it mean, then?"

"I think it's a dance move."

"Huh."

They sat in another, somewhat more comfortable silence for a while, Steve still stroking little circles on Bucky's back.

Bucky started again, "Seriously, I'm sorry, I—"

"Seriously, Bucky, it's fine," Steve interrupted. He sighed, and flopped down on the bed. "I know I've been kind of…off, about you, since you came back. I'm just so scared of losing you again, y'know? But this…tonight, you kind of reminded me of something Peggy told me, after—after you fell, on that train. She said that if I respected you, I should give you the dignity of your choice. That I should respect your right to decide to make that sacrifice, for me, for the world. And I haven't been doing that, recently."

He sighed, and shifted position again. "If I try to, to shelter you, the way I admit I have been doing, I'm not showing you the respect you deserve. You got _yourself_ away from Hydra, _you_ did that. You put yourself back together when even I doubted you could. You're strong, Buck. And you're getting better every day."

Steve rolled onto his side, propping his chin on one hand and giving Bucky a sly grin. "So, you wanna give this another go? Hey, it's not illegal anymore." He gave a roguish grin. "I mean, we can wait until another time," he added hurriedly, "but…I kinda feel like we've waited long enough already."

A sliver of skin on Steve's torso peeked out where his t-shirt had ridden up. Bucky wet his lips. "I think…I think you're right, tonight's the night. But…"

"But what?"

Bucky took a deep breath and looked right into his eyes. "Steve, I don't want to hurt you."

Steve's expression softened; the teasing look replaced by tenderness. "It's all right, Bucky. You won't. I heal so quickly, I'm not even sure you could."

Bucky looked down at his hands in his lap. He knew his hesitancy was written all over his face, but he didn't have to hide anything, not from Steve. And he knew Steve would understand why it was there, and not feel unwanted.

"Maybe…" Steve suggested, tentative. "We could do it the other way? At least at first? If you're that worried about hurting me, maybe that would feel better?"

Bucky snorted at that, he couldn't help himself. Anyone else but Steve, he'd suspect an ulterior motive from a suggestion like that, but Steve wasn't the kind of guy who'd pull bullshit power plays in the bedroom. And…the idea had appeal.

"You sure you can figure out what to do with that?" he teased, leering at Steve's crotch. " 'Cause the way I remember it, you didn't exactly _dance_—" he waggled his eyebrows— "on a regular basis."

Steve flushed pink in embarrassment and glared at him. "How difficult can it be, you figured it out."

Bucky laughed and flopped over next to Steve. "I guess I walked right into that one, huh. Seriously though, do you know how it works, between men? You don't have to be embarrassed if you don't."

"I do," Steve said seriously. "Natasha showed me how to work the Google and I looked a few things up."

"You were _researching sex tips?_ You dog!" Bucky crowed. Steve shoved him.

"So I was curious! Yeah, all right, laugh it up." Steve's blush had deepened to a dark red. He folded his arms and lay there stewing until Bucky's laughter stopped. "So, do you want to?"

Bucky didn't hesitate. "Yeah, I do. Come here." He rolled over onto his stomach, tugging Steve's arm with his metal hand. Steve let Bucky pull him forward until he was on top of him, chest flush with Bucky's back.

"Like this?" he whispered in Bucky's ear, wrapping his free arm around Bucky's chest. "You're sure?"

Bucky nodded wordlessly. Steve nodded, then nuzzled into Bucky's neck, kissing it. He tugged the hair tie out, letting Bucky's long hair fall loose onto his shoulders. Then he twined his arm further around Bucky's chest, gripping his chin gently to turn his head back over his shoulder so Steve could reach his mouth. Steve's left hand slid down Bucky's metal arm, and he laced their fingers together.

Bucky moaned and arched his back, pressing his ass into Steve's groin. He could feel a faint blush rising on his cheeks. The heat of Steve's body bled through their clothes, matching the heat of Steve's mouth on his.

He rolled his hips backwards, felt Steve's cock hard through his sweatpants pressing against his ass. Steve groaned out loud into his mouth and his hips bucked forward involuntarily.

God, he hoped whatever Erskine had put in that concoction had done something for Steve's stamina. Bucky knew Steve was about as virgin as a fella could get, and wanted this night to last as long as possible.


End file.
